The Lark and The Baron
by Lauren Mockett
Summary: Jean Valjean doesn't exist in this version and Cosette is still at the Thenardier inn when Marius finds her. Will they find a way to scrape a happily ever after out of their dark world?
1. Beginnings

The Lark had never known love, but she sang its songs as though it were her constant companion. Some say that's why the creaky Thenardier chophouse stayed open for so long. Although most travelers who stayed there knew they were in for a rough ride of swindles, and bad wine, they couldn't help but choose the place every once in awhile. They liked to hear the young maid's windy voice blowing about the place as she sang of kindness, and hope, and a far away place that reminded them of long lost dreams.

She was a wispy little thing, small in every form of the word, with golden hair and eyes as big and blue as the sea. But she was by no means beautiful. True, she had a look of mystery about her, but the poor girl was far too skeletal to be thought of in that way. Although she was nearly sixteen, most would have thought her years younger. Not to mention the bruises. She tried to cover them with various layers of threadbare clothing, but a face is difficult to hide. Her deep turquoise eyes were, more days than not, surrounded by dark bruises that made one wince to look at.

Yet, and this was the greatest mystery of all, the young girl was brave. She worked tirelessly, and the smile never left her face. She kept a certain glow of courage about her, like sunlight, always returning. Her life was a whirlwind of misery and fear, and somehow, it seemed as if she could see the future. Things would someday change for her.

* * *

The heir could be described in one word. Disappointing. At the fancy royalist salons his remarks were always of the wrong sort. Questions like, "Well what of the Rebels side? Didn't they have a point?" and "Did you know Napoleon Bonaparte was actually above the average height? Five feet 7 inches exactly." were not acceptable in the silk-draped rooms where King Louis Philippe was sent from God, and both the Revolution and the Empire were of the devil.

He was tall, and of fair complexion, with a great pile of dark hair atop his brow. The Grandfather might have considered him a handsome lad, had he not looked so much like his scumbag of a father. He walked in an upright manner, which bespoke ingratitude and unfounded pride. He had learned to keep his opinions to himself, but the questions were unstoppable. The boys solemn face was rarely seen, as it was generally buried deep in some large, dusty book.

Monsieur Gillenormand, needing an heir, had saved the boy from his dirt-poor, Republican father, and had given him everything, but love. And yet, love, was the very thing that seemed to flow from the boy's being. To the embarrassment and shame of the entire Gillenormand estate, the young heir was always passing about Gold Louis and kind words to ragged passers by, and offering help wherever it was needed.


	2. Trouble

LARK

* * *

"Cosette!" The shriek rang through the inn, previously silent but for the young girl's soft hum. Cosette's heart jumped. In her short lifetime she had learned to associate that name only with the pain which followed. How could she know it was a nickname her mother had given her that meant, 'little thing of great importance'?

"Yes madam! Coming madam!" The two pampered sisters giggled, as she dashed past them, and downstairs into the dining room, slipping on the wet tiles she'd just been scrubbing.

When Cosette reached the Thenardiess, the burly woman's usually ruddy face was an almost impossible shade of red. "Didn't I ask you to _clean_ this floor?"

"Yes madam, I did, I-"

The old black belt smacked down across her neck and a clear red line could immediately be seen. Most young girls would have cried, screamed even, but Cosette merely whimpered. The blow stung so much it felt like fire, but she had to be strong. She knew if she cried now, it would only make things worse. "Liar! Look at it!" The Thenardiess gripped Cosette's neck and pushed her to the floor. Her hands slapped the tiles hard, and her bewildered face was suddenly inches away from the floor.

"Buh-Wha-?" Cosette sputtered. Minutes ago, she knew, this floor had been shining, without a trace of ale-vomit left. But now, there were several tiles caked in mud and coal dust from the streets.

At this moment, Eponine and Azelma decided they could no longer hold in their laughter, and broke out in a fit of very unladylike guffaws, which wafted down from the upstairs rooms. While the woman was distracted, Cosette got to her feet. It hurt her to know that these two girls who could easily have been friendly to her, even sisterly, after all, they did grow up together, could take so much pleasure in hurting her.

"Girls" the Thenardiess called, suddenly all honey and sunshine, "Please get back to your lessons."

"Yes mother," they called in unison, and their boisterous voices faded.

Again the Thenardiess's fingers were clamped around Cosette's neck, but this time she pulled her face close to hers, bending until their noses were almost touching. A drop of sweat dripped from her brow, and her breath smelled of bad pork. "Next time something like this happens I will break your arms, and throw you into the streets to die like your whore mother. Clear?"

"Yes madam." Cosette trembled, and the Thenardiess shoved her to the floor again, throwing the bucket and rag after her. The dirty water splashed over the bony girl, soaking her hair, and through her dress, and Cosette, unflinching, began again to work.

Back and forth she pulled the rag until her fingers bled. The Thenardier family sat down at one of the inn's circular tables and ate a steaming dinner of stew and bread, and, ignoring the pitiful creature at their feet, threw their scraps to the dog. Still, the Lark sang softly to herself, of heavenly things, and happy days yet to come. It cheered her troubled heart, and gave her the strength she would need for tonight. For tonight, she must face the girls. For now that the threat was death, she must try to defend herself.

HEIR

* * *

"Marius Pontmercy!" boomed Monsieur Gillenormand.

The boy groaned. The name Pontmercy was only used under this roof in times when Marius had done something particularly ghastly, which, granted, was often, but in any case, he prepared himself for a long lecture, and possibly the cane. 'good thing I ate a big lunch,' though Marius, 'he probably won't stop till' Sunday Mass'

"Pontmercy," the old man bellowed again, "Present yourself in the parlour this instant!"

"Comming, comming!" Marius hollered back, and galloped down the green carpeted stairs.

"Your father is very ill," said the grandfather, handing him a crumpled yellow envelope.

Marius was puzzled. "And?" he asked. This wasn't what he was expecting.

"And," the old man rolled his eyes. "your aunt and I have decided it would be very improper for you to disobey his dying wish, which is to see you."

"He's dying?" Marius said aloud. But he was thinking, 'how can an imaginary person die?'

"Yes. The traitorous bastard is dying, and wants to see his abandoned son. And we, as gentlemen-"

"Don't call him that." Marius had no feelings whatsoever for the father he'd never seen, who he was forced to write to once a month, and who he had never, not once, heard back from. But, inexplicably the words had come out, and now he would pay for them. He braced himself for his Grandfather's counter blows, gritting his teeth, squaring his jaw.

But the old man only laughed. "Well, see for yourself. You won't like him, if you've any sense at all, and you can come back and tell me about how right I am." With that he handed his grandson a jingling purse-carriage money-and sent him, grumbling, on his way.

The velvet-seated carriage jostled along slowly, and as M. Gillenormand had given Marius no time to grab a book, he had nothing to do but trace his finger along the patterned curtains and dread the upcoming meeting. The young man finally dozed off, and was just beginning to drool on the cushions, when the carriage pulled suddenly to a halt, throwing his limp body onto the floor. He groaned, wiped the slobber from his face, and, without bothering to run a hand through his hair, stepped out.

"Your father's house Monsieur."

In front of the dilapidated cottage were two large patches of flowers. They were healthy, and blooming, of every shape size and color, and they made the tragic place seem happy, inviting almost. This confused Marius. His father was a hardened soldier of the Old Republic, who was incapable of bestowing kindness on anyone. How could the scarred, angry man of his imagination have the gentle heart to care for these helpless, beautiful things? 'and not for me?' his mind added.

He knocked on the door. "Oh Monsieur!" the doctor said it, for Monsieur the Baron Pontmercy had no servants, "You have come! But too late." Marius was shocked, but not grieved. In fact, he was quite ashamed that the doctor was crying, and he, the son, was not. "Monsieur, the Baron wished me to give you this," whispered the doctor, handing him a badly ripped piece of yellow paper.

Marius nodded gravely, and took it. 'gee thanks dad'.

"It is his will."

Now he understood. His father felt guilty now that he was about to meet God, and wanted to make amends with him. It was the good doctors puffy eyes that kept Marius from crumpling the note in his fist. Instead, he swallowed, and read the shaky-handed-writing.

"For my son.-The emperor made me a baron upon the battlefield of Waterloo. Since the Restoration contests this title which I have bought with my blood, my son will take it and bear it. I need not say that he will be worthy of it."

'worthy of it' This was more confusing than the flowers. These few words were the only thing he had from his father, and they transformed him into someone real. His hand shook as he wrote these words. 'he trusts that I will make him proud.' "Thank you doctor," he said.


	3. Threats

LARK

* * *

Cosette worked long into the night, as she did most nights, cleaning, and cooking, and sewing, and cleaning some more. All the while she thought of how she could strike a bargain with her two devilish adopted sisters. Eponine and Azelma were a slippery pair, and after all, she had nothing much to bargain with, but she swore to herself she was going to try. Tonight. She was just putting the broom away for the night, when she felt a smooth icy hand on her bare arm. She gasped in fright, then, recovering her composure, she said, "Ponine! Exactly the Mademoiselle I wanted to see tonight."

Eponine raised a dark, sculpted eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Cosette smiled, "I have come up with a deal."

The girl scoffed. "And what deal might that be? You do realise everything you are...your very life, pathetic as it may be, is in my hands. There can be no deals between stations Cosette."

Cosette blinked. "Well I think there can. My mother made a deal with your mother didn't she? But never mind," she had to bide her time, to try to think her way out of this, for in truth, she knew Ponine was, at least partially, correct. "What brings you here this time of night? What may I get you, some more coals for your bed? Some wine perhaps?"

Eponine rolled her eyes. In the light of the glowing fire, she looked even more frightening than usual, and as she was a good five inches taller than Cosette, the raven-haired girl was clearly the dominant of the two, even if one forgot their stations. "I think you know perfectly well why I came down here. I came to give you warning. Now. Here is my deal. When you stop smiling your slutty little smile, and dancing about the place like some poor abused princess every time a handsome rich fellow comes along, Zelma and I will stop making messes."

"But I would never!"

"Of course you would, and you do. You know as well as I do that the key to getting out of this dump is through some man. I try to impress them in any decent way I can, but those whorish ways you got from your mother get the better of their dirty minds, and I want you out of the picture. You're blocking my exit. Understand?"

"How can I stop doing something I haven't begun?" Cosette was positively mortified. She of course had no idea that her kind smiles could have this effect on those whom she bestowed it upon. And it wasn't her fault her dress was entirely too small. She'd been wearing the same one for coming on six years now since she outgrew the last one she'd had since she could remember. She tried to cover the holes with bits of old scrubbing rags, but often they came undone.

"That's your problem," smirked Eponine, "not mine. But I'd figure it out fast if I were you. Mama says you've only got one strike left. And how's a girl with two broken arms supposed to find work?" she faked a pathetic voice, and threw a bucket of water on the fire, leaving Cosette in utter darkness.


	4. Change

BARRON

* * *

The carriage ride home was a long one. On purpose. Marius directed the driver this way and that, until he had run out of money to pay him with and had to be dropped off at the church his Grandfather had taken him to as a child. It was a great distance from the Gillenormand Chatole, but Marius was prepared to walk. And besides, that shadowy house was the last place he wanted to be at the moment. The clouds that had long been forming in his young mind had now transformed into a storm, and storms have to blow around for a time, before they can settle down.

His father's note had given him proof, however small, that his father was not the man he'd always been told he was. This made his Grandfather a liar, and therefore he knew he could trust nothing he had once thought to be true.

'Then again, that wasn't much...'he thought. But his brooding was interrupted, as the congregation had begun to sing. 'It must be midnight mass'. The heir decided to enter the chapel, and, finding his childhood seat empty, took his place and joined the song. Just as he was beginning to find peace in the rousing harmony, Marius felt a shaky tap on his shoulder. He turned around, raising his eyebrows.

"Excuse me Monsieur," began the middle aged working-man behind him, "would you mind...staying after the service tonight? You make me think of someone...That is, I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

Marius nodded. "Of course." As the mass went on he found himself staring into the candles as the words of the Latin Sermon wafted through his mind. Marius understood Latin completely. His mind simply would not focus. When he finally heard the words "Amen" Marius found himself jumping from his seat, he was so eager to hear what the strange man would have to say. But the stranger put a finger to his lips and told the boy with his eyes to wait until the chapel was empty. Marius nodded again, curiosity rising like a puddle in a rainstorm.

It seemed to take hours for the crowd to trickle out, and of course, right at the last, there was an elderly woman hobbling out at the pace of a snail. Finally, when the great oak door was shut behind her, the stranger introduced himself. "My name is Father Mabeuf. And yours, Monsieur?"

"Pontmercy. Marius Pontmercy. But, Father, what about-" he tilted his head to the ancient priest, who was still putting out the candles.

"Oh don't mind him, he's deaf as dirt, poor fellow!" Mabeuf laughed, loudly enough to shake the church's stone pillars, but the old man didn't even look up from his work. "Now. You're sure your name is Pontmercy? Are you the son of the poor Baron Pontmercy?"

"Yes Monsieur."

"And this is the church you attended as a child, and always sat in that very peu?"

"Yes Monsieur." Marius was shocked to the point of wariness.

"Well be not alarmed my boy, I simply wish to ask a favor of you. And that is this: Go and visit your father, for he is something of a friend of mine-"

"I can't," said Marius, rather bluntly, "he is dead."

"Oh, how sorry I am to hear of that. Your father was a good-"

"Can you tell me about him?" the boy asked, then added, "I apologise, Monsieur. Please excuse me for interrupting. Very rude of me."

Mabeuf laughed again. "Oh Marius, there's no need for any of that old Royalist hogwash around me! As if curiosity about one's lost father was a crime. Sit down boy, across from me, and I'll tell you."

By the time Pontmercy and Mabeuf had shaken hands, and said their goodbyes, the later had in his hands a list of things he'd written down to remember about his father.

His father had loved his mother more than life itself. Mabeuf had met him in the Napoleonic Wars, and said there wasn't a minute that passed when he wasn't speaking of her.

In fact, as Mabeuf put it, "I'd have been mighty annoyed with the old bludger, had he not saved my life once, and getting himself slashed across the face in the process. You'd think I was mighty special to him, but I wasn't. Pontmercy was always saving people."

He was, apparently, an exact replica of his father. Only taller.

When Napoleon was exiled by "them blasted Britts", and Louis Philippe had been made king, his father had come home to an empty home. His wife, buried with her richer relatives, and his only son, "carted off to live with the Bourgeois".

"Yer evil grandfather-sorry, but it's true-said contact between you two was impossible. If your father had ever so much as said hello to you in person, Gillenormand said he'd cut you off. But you did get his letters, didn't you? He spent hours on those things." Marius hadn't. Only a false, cold version concocted by his grandfather.

The King didn't like him wearing his title since it came from Napoleon. But his father didn't care. "I remember one time they asked him not to wear the Baron symbol. Told him it was false, and treason." Mabeuf laughed again. "Well, your father told them! Asked them, polite as can be, if he would be aloud to wear his scars, and assured them that while it might have been treason to fight for the people of France, it certainly wasn't false. They left him alone after that.

He spent his days taking care of his flower garden, and coming here every sunday. Not particularly for the service, but to stand behind that there pillar, and watch his son. Church was the only place he could come and visit you, you see?"

Marius put the list with what was now his most prized possession, his father's will, in his left coat pocket. And, thanking his new-old friend, Marius left the church. He knew he'd return here often, but never again, he vowed, would he set foot in the Gillenormand house. For now, homeless as he was, he had become the Baron, Marius Pontmercy.


	5. Fate

LARK

* * *

From that day on, the Lark ceased to sing. She wrapped her gold hair in a rag, and kept her eyes cast down. She didn't smile, and the gentle breeze of beautiful music had vanished, leaving the inn entirely dingy, and dark. There was nothing left for her, but fear. It kept her alive, but kept her from living none the less.

It didn't take long for the small world of Montfermeil, France to notice the change, and soon, the rooms of the inn grew vacant. The charming families, and old businessmen, even the dashing young bourgeois Eponine and Azelma so liked to throw themselves at, were soon gone.

Madame Thenardier blamed it on the poor girl, and her beatings grew, while her rations shrank to almost nothing. Cosette was beginning to wonder if her hope for better times had truly been a false one after all, and if she might be better off as a broken armed beggar in the street.

HEIR

* * *

It was autumn, and the Baron was shivering in the streets. Having spent his rent money for the month on an old beggar man's cup, Marius had been thrown out of the tenement. While he did not regret his decision, he was very tired, having wandered about all day in a fruitless search for work, he needed a cheap place to stay the night.

"Ouch!" he grunted, rubbing his head. He looked up to see what was the culprit. A sign above his head said, "Thenardier Inn". Below the words was a terrible rendition of two soldiers in battle. One carrying the other on his back. The quality of the artwork was terrible, but it's message still carried. The innkeeper was a retired defender of the republic; a man like his father.


	6. Love

LARK

* * *

"What's for dinner mama?" asked Azelma.

"Oh, whatever rubbish that useless girl has cooked up tonight. We're out of money my dearest, I've stopped ordering specific meals..."

The Thenardiers were slouching, exhausted and depressed, around a dented table, waiting impatiently for their evening meal. The Autumn wind was howling, and over it, they could hear the frantic banging of copper pots and pans from the Kitchen on the other side of the wall. They knew very well there was nothing left in the Kitchen, but their growling stomachs expected _something_ none the less.

"I must admit, I've missed that girls singing about this drafty ol' place," announced the father.

"She's pouting," explained Eponine, smirking.

"On strike eh?" he asked.

"Oh what _is_ taking so long?" the Thenardiess exclaimed, "Cosette!"

"Yes Madam! Coming Madam!" The Lark's heart pounded. She knew, somehow, the family's misfortunes would be put upon her. Madam Thenardier had been brandishing her latest threat for weeks now, and the mashed potatoes, mixed with copious amounts of woods-water, would put her in quite a hungry enough mood to finally go through with it.

Her hands shook as she set down the plates, and they clattered against the table. But another sound, faint, almost blending in with the first, made them all jump. It was merely a knock at the inn door. It had once been a normal, even a monotonous sound, but it had become so unexpected for the family that there was a shocked silence before the Thenardiess finally recalled them to their senses. "Well Cosette, go and open it!"

"Yes madam!"

Cosette was so relieved at the wonderful timing of this unexpected traveler, that she utterly forgot to hide her hair, or her natural smile. She was positively beaming as she opened the inn's heavy door.

BARRON

* * *

Marius was so shocked by the frankly radiant girl at the door that for a moment, he had simply stood there. He felt that he was grinning like a madman, though he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. Beautiful in a different way than he'd ever thought possible, she seemed to emanate a very real heavenly glow, and her eyes were the ocean. They seemed to go on and on forever, pulling him into them, into her, like the tide.

The girl's voice, like birdsong, awakened him from his thoughts. "Monsieur, would you come in?"

For a moment more, he was lost for words, but when they came out he was relieved to find them smooth and calm, much the opposite from the way they felt inside him. "Yes please, mademoiselle, you are very kind." For the first time in his life, he mentally thanked his grandfather for teaching him the manners of a gentleman. He bowed to her, and took off his now rather dented top hat.

When she reached out to take it from him, he saw a piece of exposed skin which faded in a large misshapen oval from purple to blue. "Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

The girl paused in hanging Marius's hat on one of several empty hooks. A look of surprise crossed her face briefly before she answered, "Oh, yes. Quite alright Monsieur. Thank you."

Marius didn't believe her. He'd been the recipient of two or three of those marks in his life at the Gillenormand Estate, and he knew how painful they could be. Previously, he'd been too consumed by her overwhelming beauty to notice, but now, a hundred different marks showed themselves on every piece of exposed pearly skin. Cuts and bruises alike found their way into his vision. 'I will make whoever has done this pay' he thought. 'Dearly. For no human creature should be put through so much pain. Let alone an angel...'

A gruff voice that belonged, it seemed, to a man wearing petticoats, interrupted Marius. "Cosette! You imbecile! Show the Monsieur to-"

"What did you just say?" Marius was outraged.

The woman was taken aback, but quickly recovered, forcing a smile. "Monsieur, she is an illegitimate scullery maid-"

"Oh, well I understand then," he retorted sarcastically, "that makes it fine."

There followed an uncomfortable pause. Marius knew now he'd had the wrong impression of the inn, and would have left had he not felt the need to be near this girl called Cosette. 'I will protect you.' he promised her silently. 'I'll find a way to get you out of here.' But even in his head the words sounded empty. For how could he, a penniless boy carrying a title that meant treason, find a way to rescue the damsel in distress?


	7. Introductions

LARK

* * *

Madam Thenardier tried her best to change the subject, asking the Young Man if he'd have some dinner, but the charming gentleman interrupted her again.

"Maybe later madam," his tone was polite, yet stern. "I wish to speak to this young lady in private." The way that he strung his words together broadcasted his riches and breeding like a street sign. No one of such high birth had ever set foot in the Thenardier chophouse, and Cosette knew he would be given his way.

Her heart fluttered nervously. The handsome young gentleman-to be sure he was the most handsome man Cosette had ever seen, in manner and physique-wished to speak to her...alone. Had she done something wrong? It seemed unlikely, as they'd only been in each other's presence for a few moments. And in those few moments he'd done nothing but defend her. In Cosette's experience, this was not the conduct shown by one who was offended or put off. Then what was it?

One question still bothered her young mind as he gently led her away into the upper rooms, away from the gaping mouths of the Thenardiers, and that was this: Why? Every act of kindness the Lark had ever witnessed had been in payment for something previous. A young girl tended a woman's child, and thereby earned a loaf of bread; A student needed help with his schoolwork, and an old man needed a new roof, so they traded kindnesses. Cosette wracked her brain, but she could find nothing she had done to deserve his gentle smile, his protective presence. The very thought confused her.

When they were at last alone, the gentleman closed the door softly, and turned to face her with a grim look on his face. For a long time he stayed that way, and Cosette, blushing madly, tried to pick with her fingers through her tangled hair. She waited as long as she was able for him to speak first, instinct telling her that this was the proper thing, but she couldn't stand the stillness of the moment. "Monsieur, what may I do for you?"

He seemed to come back to his senses. "Nothing...Nothing at all, thank you mademoiselle," he said the words almost automatically, then suddenly, "Cosette." The way he said her name turned it from a warning bell, telling her to brace herself for the hurt to come, into something soft and bright, beautiful even. She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were dark, but they possessed a certain light that mesmerized Cosette. Her soul seemed to be drinking it in, and she never wished to stop. For a timeless moment they remained there until the young man, whom Cosette, without even knowing his name, had begun to fall in love with, spoke again.

"Cosette. That is your name, is it not?"

"Yes monsieur," the Lark said breathlessly. Dare she ask? Yes. She felt she could ask anything of him. "And what is yours?"

The young man flushed. "Forgive me. I am the Baron Marius Pontmercy." He stooped, and she allowed him to kiss her hand, painfully aware her calloused fingers.

"Marius," Cosette sighed, forgetting his rank, and that she should be the one bowing. His was the first touch she could remember that wasn't meant to inflict pain, and the poor girl was in ecstasy.

"Cosette," Marius broke off again, "I swear to you, I will do all that is in my power to free you from this place, but I have no means...as of yet...to do so."

Cosette was in shock. Because of the surprise, and her great lack of food and rest, she nearly fainted, falling into the Barron's arms.

Forgetting all propriety, they sat on the bed together, his arms around her shoulders. Again, their eyes met. Cosette felt his face coming ever closer until suddenly, without even knowing what she was doing, she had closed her eyes and could feel his lips on hers. They were warm and tender. Touching him sent a glittering shiver down her spine, making her feel as though she were glowing.

"Oh Marius," she said when they broke apart. "I...you're the kindest most wonderfully perfect person I have ever met. But I don't understand..."

"Don't understand what, darling?" That word. There was something magical about it. She swallowed.

"I don't understand...why. Why are you doing this? You must know I can give you nothing in return for your kindness. I have nothing to offer you-"

BARRON

* * *

"You have everything to offer me. You alone are everything. Cosette I-" Marius cut himself off. His feelings were so shockingly deep that they frightened him, and he didn't want to scare her. But she was calm and attentive. He knew it would take much more than words to frighten Cosette. He swallowed. "I love you." She breathed in sharply, and blinked, as though she'd been touched from behind. Marius cursed himself inwardly, then rushed to explain. "I know people don't usually fall in love so quickly...it must seem impossible to you, but-"

"No." Cosette interrupted him simply, shaking her head. The confusion on her face had melted away, replaced by the kindest smile Marius had ever seen. She placed a soft hand on his chest. "It can't be impossible. Because I love you too."

Never had the Barron felt a stranger mix of emotions. All at once he was ecstatic and despairing; nervous and secure; he was afraid, but filled with inexplicable courage.

"What do you think it would take for them to let me take you away from here?"

The girl sighed, shaking her head. "Marius, the only reason they've let me come up here and talk with you is because they think you have a lot of money. They're not like you. They don't believe in giving. Only taking."

"Well then, maybe if we... No." For a few fleeting moments, Marius had considered running away with the girl. But she was too sacred. His intentions were righteous, of course, but still...

"I can never leave the inn," she said, "Except at midnight, when I go to draw water from the well in the woods of Montfremeil."

"Every night?" He whispered to himself, "Well then Cosette, if you will allow me to-"

"I will,"

Marius blushed. "I will be there to meet you, every night, at midnight, when you go to the well."

She smiled, and he felt her delicate fingers interlock with his. "I can't wait. But now you must go. They won't tolerate unpaying customers for long."

He nodded then, squeezed her hand, and walked downstairs. As he left, he said to the innkeepers, in a voice shockingly like his grandfathers, "I find this inn to be in quite unsatisfactory condition. I cannot stay here tonight. A word of business advice for you monsieur, madame," he added, "Your maid will be of much better use to you if you actually feed and clothe her." With that, he slammed the door, leaving the family staring at him open mouthed.

'Drat. I hope that won't get her in trouble' he thought, 'maybe I should...yes. Just in case.'

"I may be back," he said, sticking his head back into the room, "to check on things."


	8. Reality

LARK

* * *

The next morning was a strange one for Cosette. She woke late and stared into the white coals marveling that last night had really happened.

"He was so wonderful!" She breathed into the ashes, sending delicate grey spirals into the air. She laughed a little to herself, flopping back onto the hard brick hearth. And then reality caught up to her.

The Lark sat up straight. It was long past dawn. How had she slept so long? Where was Madame with her fire poker? There was definitely something wrong. She got up warily, and went into the dining area.

"Yes, but if he does-" Monsieur Thenardier was saying, before Cosette entered, silencing him.

"Ahh, Cosette!" Madam Thenardier exclaimed sweetly. The smile she plastered on her round face looked more ominous to the poor girl than her usual glare.

"M-Madame?" She stuttered.

"Oh don't stand there looking so surprised, you know very well things have changed for you," the woman said grudgingly. She muttered under her breath about men these days, and their ghastly taste in women until her husband kicked her under the table and she regained her sticky sweet tone, "Now, I want you to run upstairs and clean yourself in the girls's wash-bin. Brush your hair too."

Cosette nodded slowly, and did as told.

"Don't dawdle now!"

"Yes Madame."

Eponine and Azelma slept like a pair of rocks, long into the afternoon. So Cosette was not the smallest bit afraid as she filled the wooden tub with cold well water-she dared not take the time to heat it up- undressed, and quickly bathed. Never in her life had she felt so positively clean. Previously, she'd only been allowed to splash herself a bit in the icy wood-spring. Now, looking in Eponine's cracked mirror, she was shocked. Her eyes looked brighter, her cheeks somehow rosier, and not a scrap of soot was left on her skin.

She grabbed the old brush and began to pull it through her long blonde tangles. As her hair had never been truly brushed, this took a dreadfully long time, but Cosette felt, she needn't fear. It seemed that the better times she'd always hoped for were finally beginning to come. And all because of her beautiful Marius.

BARRON

* * *

The clock on the wall seemed to be broken. Marius had sitting on a broken three legged stool, bending over books in English and German, since five o'clock in the morning. Now, the big hand was at the six, and the little hand, at the eleven. Just thirty more minutes until he would see his beloved Cosette, but those minutes seemed agonizingly slow.

"Pontmercy, are you alright?" Asked the frizz-haired manager, "You've been here all day!"

Marius had been working at the Translation Office ever since he disowned his Royalist grandfather. But he'd never spent much time there, just enough to buy food and rent. It was quite unlike The Barron to spend so much time at work.

"Oh yes monsieur. Quite alright, thank you."

"Well, here's the week's pay then," he said handing him a handful of coins.

"Thank you Monsieur!" Marius said excitedly. He couldn't remember ever being particularly excited about money before, but now, the possibilities seemed endless. His money could buy Cosette's freedom, a quaint house in the country for them to settle down in, and any beautiful thing she might desire. Marius shoved the money deep in the last of his pockets left without a hole, and dashed out the door.

Moonlight splattered over the damp autumn cobblestones, and frost pictures covered the town windows. Not many of the shops remained open. Marius stopped at the only bakeshop that still had a light in its window, and bought two fluffy white baguettes for Cosette. These cost only a few sous. The rest of today's earnings he forced himself to put into savings. When he passed a lighted dress shop, a white crepe thing with off the shoulder sleeves made him think twice, but no. Pretty things were last on the list. Freedom first.

The woods were dark and cold. It worried Marius to think of Cosette alone here, night after night. 'But she won't be alone any longer' he told himself as he trudged through the dying trees. The thought gave him a small comfort.

Just when he was beginning to wonder if he was lost, a voice like a cool breeze called out to him through the silvery darkness. "Marius?"

"Cosette?"

The trees shifted, and a clean white light shone down on the girl. She looked happier than yesterday somehow, and impossible as it seemed to Marius, even more beautiful.

"Oh Marius, I'm so glad you've found me! I was beginning to think you might be lost."

"Lost?" Marius tried to smile coyly, "Never." He walked toward her, taking her outstretched hand and subconsciously looking her up and down. "My darling, where are your shoes?"

"Shoes?" She asked.

Again, she seemed surprised at his genuine concern. 'But she shouldn't be' he thought, almost angrily, 'doesn't she, she must know how I care for her,' and then, an entirely new voice that Marius had never heard before, entered his mind. 'perhaps she does not yet know what it means to be cared for.'

Cosette's laugh was more of a weary sigh. "I've never had any."

Marius stiffened, clenching his jaw. He could not comprehend how anyone could treat an angel with such neglect, and cruelty.

"But do not worry," she smiled, "I'm quite used to it. And seeing you warms me more than any shoes could."

"Would you take mine?"

"No." She put on a mockingly snobbish air. "They're far too shabby for me. Look at the holes in your toes. No, I wouldn't be seen in them."

Marius couldn't help laughing even though, in his mind, the matter was far from decided.


	9. Courtship

LARK

* * *

Cosette shrieked with surprise and laughter as Marius scooped her up in his arms, spinning her around. She held on tight to his neck, relishing the feeling of weightless freedom. But too quickly the moment was gone and they were tumbling to the leaf-strewn ground.

"Marius are you alr-" Cosette began breathlessly, but she didn't get to finish, for her lips were captured. The kiss was passionate and hard. She wanted it to go on forever and ever. She did not even want to breathe.

But too quickly Marius pulled away. Sitting up, he stared hard into her eyes. "Cosette, I want you to know that I did not come here to...that is...I plan to marry you,when that becomes a possibility. I have no intentions of compromising your honor. And if we carry on in this way..." He bit his lip. "To put it frankly, you're not making it easy."

Eponine's words sprang to the Larks mind. "Your whorish ways...Little slut..." She'd never meant to make anyone, even Marius, want her in this way. Was Eponine right? Cosette hung her head, sighing. "I'm so sorry Marius. Truly."

She felt his gentle hand under her chin. "No, Cosette, it isn't your fault." He half-laughed, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. "The last part was supposed to be a compliment, and the rest...well, I dream of us together in a little room of our own. You can decorate it any way you want. It will be special. Just for us."

Cosette nodded, smiling again. It just felt so good to be touched by him, like life itself came from his fingertips. "I love you" she said.

"I love you."

They sat in the leaves, just holding hands, soaking in each other's presence for centuries, until Cosette sighed. "I must be going," she frowned, standing up. "Madame will be angry."

"So soon?"

"Marius, it has been too long already. Truly, I wish I could stay..."

He nodded. "At least let me walk you back then."

She smiled, glad for his company. "Alright."

They walked hand in hand, Marius carrying the sloshing bucket, and eating the fluffy white bread Marius had brought. It was the most delicious thing Cosette had ever consumed, and the first bite drew a long, satisfied sigh from her lips. She refused to eat them both, saying she'd already eaten today because of him. It was a lie. The Thenardiers were still paying off debts, and the few customers who had wandered in had paid just enough money to afford the supplies used to make their stay bearable. The extra swindled money had to go to the family's dinner. "He can't tell if we don't feed her" Madame had reasoned, "At least not for a little while. Right now, money is tight, and our girls' cheeks are getting thinner...Cosette dear, you'll have your dinner when the debts have been paid."

But the Lark had had a lovely day. She had spent almost the entirety of it outside. Delighting in the feeling of her clean, untangled hair falling softly to her waist, and singing a little more loudly than usual as she'd washed the front wall, and sign of the inn, swept its porch, and even planted some fall flowers in some pots under the windows. She knew, besides probably God, she had only Marius to thank for her happiness, and she had been overwhelmed with anticipation to see him tonight.

"Tell me your story, Marius?" she asked now, as they walked.

"My story?"

"Yes, the story of you. How you grew into yourself."

"Oh, well, it isn't a very interesting one."

"I'm listening."

Cosette heard Marius talking of Royalists and Napoleon Bonaparte, but she understood nothing of politics. She only gathered that the Baron had chosen goodness over selfishness, and courage over compliance. He had sacrificed a life of ease and pleasure in order to follow his heart. "I am very proud of you," she said, squeezing his hand, "As I'm sure your father is."

She told her love of how, when she was very young, almost too young to remember, her mother had left her at the inn. She couldn't understand why, but a warm, cozy feeling in her heart told her that her mother had loved her. "I remember a tender smile on her face. Her hair was like gold. I don't believe God would had a difficult job turning her into an angel when she died. All he would have to do is give her wings." Suddenly Cosette had a wonderful thought. "Do you think maybe...My mother and your father know each other?" she asked, "And perhaps they are smiling down on us now?"

"I do not doubt it," Marius smiled kindly. "You attend church then?"

The question was a simple one, and said carelessly. She knew his love did not depend on her answer. Still, Cosette bit her lip, embarrassed. She would have loved to lie to him just now. "I have never...And I have never learned to read, but I have heard talk of God, and his Angels. I believe in them with all my heart."

BARRON

* * *

Marius walked back through the town to his flat, whistling to himself. She'd kissed him so hard...He felt as though her lips had left a mark on his. He touched them. They felt the same. He laughed to himself. She truly was driving him mad. And yet...he couldn't shake the sound she'd made about the bread from his mind. His insides twisted remembering all the birthday cakes and pastries he'd eaten over the years of his life. Sometimes when he wasn't even hungry. And his darling had grown up a skeleton. Always, always hungry. Still drenched in his reverie, he put his hand on the doorknob and turned, but the door wouldn't budge. 'I never lock the door' he thought, mildly concerned.

"Pontmercy, is that you? I'm sorry, you can't go in there, you've been evicted." The craggy old woman who ran Marius's latest tenement called.

"How can it be? I've lived here but a day!"

The old woman let out a long pipe puff. It was surprising to Marius that such a tiny body could hold so much air, but he waited patiently. "I'm sorry Pontmercy. You seem like such a nice young man. But times are tough. Another gentleman by the name of Courfeyrac came asking for a room. He said he would pay twice what you pay..." She trailed off, scratching at a stain on her apron.

"So you told him mine was vacant." Marius sighed, rubbing his eyes. It was going to be another long night. Sleeping on the streets did not suit him well. "Alright madam, I understand." But just as he began to shuffle his way out into the cold, the door of his room creaked open, and a jovial voice echoed into the hall.

"Was that the name Pontmercy I heard? The Baron, Marius Pontmercy?"

"Yes." Marius stood straight and proud.

"Baron?" the tenement woman gasped.

The young man grinned so wildly Marius felt sure he must be drunk. He had pounds of curly black hair, sharp brown eyes, and an odd though not unpleasant sort of nose. "It's wonderful to meet you." He held out a hand and Marius shook it, laughing uneasily. "I've been going through your things and wishing we could be friends. And since you've just let me have your room, it seems we already are." The young man pulled Marius in, clapping him on the shoulder. "Why don't you come stay the night with me? There's a spare mattress."

Marius was perplexed. He couldn't detect a trace of alcohol. "Well I'd be honored, thank you-er..."

"Courfeyrac."

They became fast friends, to the young Baron's utter surprise. He'd never met anyone as easy-mannered and open as Courfeyrac, nor anyone whose political ideals had come so close to agreeing with his own. 'Now that I think about,' he admitted to himself, 'I've never really had a friend before.' He felt a strange sort of excitement growing inside him, so different from what he felt with Cosette. Although his new friend offered him the bed, he declined it, saying he preferred the floor. They fell asleep laughing.

 **Alright, things are about to get interesting. The barricades are coming! Please review. Let me know if that last chapter was a little** ** _too much_** **for these two cuties (Marius and Cosette are so innocent, it's almost comical. I love them though)**


	10. Wishes

LARK

* * *

Autumn left, and with the fresh fallen snow, and Christmas time, the Thenardier Inn was almost busy. Eponine and Azelma were fitted for new velvet gowns that the family could by no means afford. The old ones were sold, all except one that is, which was given to the Lark. Monsieur and Madame Thenardier put their best tricks to use, and the family was again able to buy more food than ever before.

The white dusted windows of the inn sent a warm golden glow into the streets, and warbling tavern songs blew out the ever opening door. With the thick new boots she'd received from Marius, Cosette didn't mind the freezing walk through the woods. In fact, she could usually be seen skipping through the dreary darkness, beaming with excitement.

Marius kept true to his menacing words, and came once or twice to stay in the inn, keeping his light purse strapped to his person, and never touching a drop of liquor. On one such occasion, Azelma had glared at Cosette, and promptly sat herself in the young gentleman's lap. In his outrage, Marius stood up so fast that Azelma, in her low-neck-purple gown had fallen to the floor. Utterly crushing her bustle. Cosette had bitten her lip to keep from laughing.

The girls had learned that without Cosette singing and smiling as she went about the place, there would be no young gentlemen at all. Needless to say, they ceased their old tricks. But replaced them with far less obvious ones. Tripping the girl as she carried a tray of scalding coco, leaving burn marks across her face and hands. Tearing holes in her new dress. Or their favorite, spilling out the water bucket early, so the Lark would have to go to the well alone.

Still, she kept her chin up. She couldn't remember a happier time in her life. Her Baron had done so much for her. The only thing she felt she needed to complete her happiness was to give him something in return.

One night, when Madame was so slouching with liquor that her beady eyes were sliding this way and that, Cosette plucked up her courage. "Madame?"

"Ehh"

"Well, Madame, seeing as how the Baron has been so kind to me, and, well," she set down her broom, and pulled up a chair opposite the elephantine woman, "It is Christmas time, and,"

"Spit it out girl!"

"Is there anything extra that I might do, so I could give him something?"

Madame began to cough loudly. Cosette had seen this routine before. It was something the woman used to distract her opponents while she thought of what to say. Usually what came next was not pleasant.

"Please Madame, I will give up rations, and, and I'll work later every night."

Madame stopped coughing. Cosette held her breath. "Cosette dear, you'll work yourself to death that way." The Lark was still not adjusted to this new sickly sweet tone. "I don't think that would be possible. We're tight on money as it is. We don't have anything to spare on a man who's already rich enough to spend his precious coins on an ugly scullery drudge."

"Yes Madame."

"I'm sure you'll find your own way to thank him." The Thenardiess reached out to pat the girl's hand. She drew it back instinctively.

"Yes Madame."

BARON

* * *

Courfeyrac and Marius told each other everything. Except where they went late at night. Every night. Courfeyrac finished school at three, and would often join Marius at the Translation Center for a few hours. Then slip off, to some strange outing. Marius assumed at first, that he was meeting a mistress (His new friend did talk often of women) but the meetings seemed far too close together for that.

Courfeyrac too was convinced the Baron was seeing someone. "Who is she?" Was the nightly question.

"Moonlight," Marius always replied. "I like walking around in the dark, and thinking things."

"Sure you do," Courfeyrac would laugh, "Someday I'll get a name out of you Pontmercy, you'll see. I don't see why you're so embarrassed." Marius wasn't embarrassed of course, but Courfeyrac couldn't possibly understand the delicacy of the situation. He couldn't know.

One stormy night however Marius came home at the late hour of 1:30 am, to find his friend still awake.

"Couldn't sleep," he said in explanation. "Marius, I have something of great importance to tell you. I think you'll be very excited to hear it."

"Really?" Marius pulled up a noisy chair, and put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "Well let's hear it then."

"It comes with a price."

"A price? Courf, you know full well I have no money."

"This is an opportunity for you to earn money. A very good one. Much better wages than that translator shop you work at, and much better job satisfaction. I will tell you where I go at night, and I invite you to come with me. My only requirement is that you tell me your little secret in return."

Marius sighed. His friend's offer was indeed very tempting. "A good deal more?"

"Yes," Courfeyrac nodded eagerly.

"And it is honorable work?"

"The most honorable."

The Baron pursed his lips. "Alright then, you shall know. But Courfeyrac. You must not think that I would ever do anything...dishonorable with this girl, she-"

"Ah so it is a girl then!" Courfeyrac laughed, "I knew it!"

"This is serious."

"Of course." The youthful face was still guffawing on the inside, but he sucked his cheeks in so as not to smile.

"Her name is Cosette, and she is an angel."

"I'm sure she is."

"But she is unlawfully enslaved. She cannot leave...the place where she lives will remain undisclosed..." Courfeyrac snorted here. "Except at midnight when she goes to the well in the woods. I meet her there every night. I've been saving money so one day we may marry. But...it is a slow process."

"Well my friend, allow me to help you with this dilemma. Come with me to the Cafe Musain at 5:00 sharp tomorrow night. My friend Rene Enjolras has agreed to hire you, if you'll take the job."

"And what exactly is this job?"

"We're revolutionising france."

"What?" He was laughing in that nervous childish way again. He hated that laugh.

"You said you hated Louis Philippe"

"I do, but-"

"Well, we're going to tear him down. What do you say?"


	11. Plans

LARK

* * *

She thought momentarily of cutting her hair, but imagining Marius's face made the Lark think better of it. Still, Christmas was only a few days away, and Cosette had not managed to put a sou away for her love. She knew what she would get him, if she had the funds. He talked unceasingly of the Empire. Those glorious days of equity and patriotism in France. How he wished he could learn more if only to know his father a little better.

"Oy girl, I think that tables clean enough!" A slurred voice jolted her from her thoughts. Cosette blushed, staring down at the rag she'd been absently swirling across the wood.

"Of course monsieur!" She smiled at the elderly gentlemen across the room. His skin was ragged as a sailor, and his beard a mile long, but Cosette wasn't afraid of such men. "Can I refill that mug for you?"

"That'd be lovely m'dear. Jes lovely." The Lark put a tray on her hip and disappeared behind the counter. Usually this was madame Thenardier's place, but the piggy woman had gone Christmas shopping for the day. Luckily she wasn't the most industrious of souls, and her absence did not add greatly to Cosette's usual workload.

The pitcher was full and frothing. Not wishing to smell like a drunkard when she met Marius in the woods tonight, Cosette scanned carefully for any signs of Ponine and Zelma. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she located the old gentlemen, and wove her way toward him humming a lavender tune as she went. "There you are monsieur."

The bearded man looked up from his large leather book and smiled in a watery way. "Thank you little Lark."

Cosette blinked. It wasn't uncommon for travelers to know her by this name, but there was something about this man that made her glad he did. "Are you fond of reading monsieur?"

"Rarely leave the 'ouse widout a book under me arm." He took a sip of beer, and Cosette smiled, thinking, as she refilled the rest of the table. Perhaps an arrangement could be met with this man. "Mind tellin a bloke your real name mademoiselle?"

"Cosette."

"Well Cosette, if you ever wish to borrow or buy a book let me know."

"That's very kind of you monsieur..."

"Mabeuf."

 **BARRON**

* * *

The air in the cafe musain was thick with gold candlelight, and pipe smoke. The Barron gulped, straightening his shabby cravat, and worrying over what these prestigious revolutionists would say about his unpatched elbow. He stood in the doorway of the upstairs room, squinting through the fog for an uncomfortable amount of time before his friend finally gave a boisterous wave. He smiled nervously as a few other heads turned, and walked over to sit between Courfeyrac and a slumped figure who smelled strongly of stiff ail.

"Grantaire," murmured Courf. "Been out cold for the past half hour or so. He's the reason I convinced Enjolras to let you in."

"Really? I'm not sure I-" They didn't get to finish their conversation because just then a golden haired youth stood up from his desk in the corner. His blue eyes flashed and the once boisterous room was filled with an awed silence.

"I have received word from an informant," he brandished a rolled up yellow paper, "that his majesty the king," Marius couldn't help but smirk at the sarcastic title, "has plans to nominate-" a tide of grumblings was unleashed here.

"Nominate!" someone scoffed.

"As if he were God!"

A small smile crossed the speaker's face, and he nodded before continuing. "Francois Guizot for President of the Council."

Now the room was in uproar. Fists and mugs slammed on tables as curses flew like flies in the summer.

"Enjolras, the people's choice was Lamarque. Are you sure?" Asked a bespectacled man pacing the groaning floor.

"Positive," replied the blonde leader, grim as a funeral. "It is utterly unacceptable. To have a king reigning over France is an abomination. For that king to ignore the very people who support him is intolerable. We cannot allow Louis-Philippe to cross this iron line."

"But what can we do?" Marius clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late. The entire room had turned to look at him.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat awkwardly. "Brothers, I present you, Pontmercy."

No one spoke. The poor Baron couldn't tell if he was white or red.

Finally the one with the glasses smiled. "Ahh, our first hired mercenary."

"Second if you count Grantaire!" Said Courf.

"No one counts Grantaire," sighed Enjolras impatiently.

Amid the laughter, the bespectacled man stuck out his hand, which Marius gratefully shook. "I'm Combeferre."

"Good to meet you monsieur." Another ripple of laughter followed this response with several mocking voices repeating the word "monsieur" in high childish tones. Marius was baffled.

"Citizen," Combeferre corrected, grinning as though the Baron were his young brother.

"Pontmercy's question still stands," Enjolras continued as though the conversation hadn't turned. "What can we do?"

"We must find a way to ensure that the king knows his boundaries-" Began Combeferre.

"Before his neck finds the Guillotine or he's exiled from France!" Enjolras raised a clenched fist and everyone roared their approval. Even the Barron.


	12. Hope

LARK

* * *

It was Christmas morning. A gentle bluster of snow was falling softly on the empty street and a few golden rays of sun were shining through the warped windowpanes of the Thenardier chophouse. Cosette sang as she cleaned the kitchen fireplace. She couldn't remember a Christmas that had filled her with as much excitement as this one. When she'd been a very little girl she remembered hoping faintly that the Christmas fairy would come. 'Maybe this year I've been good enough' she would say. But every year she'd wake to find her muddy wooden shoe empty. She'd stopped hoping somewhere around age nine or ten and Christmas had begun to mean only extra work and an emphasis on her humiliating solitude. But not today.

Just two days ago, the Lark had struck the most wonderful luck since she'd met the Baron. Old Mabeuf was a friend of Marius's and said he had just the thing at home. He'd convinced the Thenardiers to rent the girl out to him for a day. They were of course absolutely convinced that he only wanted her for a whore, and the resulting jeering and smirks from Eponine and Azelma were abominable. However the old veteran simply needed some help organizing and dusting his home. The effect of Cosette's skills on the house was undeniably lovely, and the old man payed the Thenardiers well.

To the girl he gave an old biography on Napoleon. Saved, and kept secret all the way from the days of the Empire. It was impossible, Mabeuf promised, to obtain such a work anywhere else. And so, though the leather that bound the smuggled, precious book was a little dented, and a great many pages bent at the corners, Cosette knew Marius would be head over heels in love with the elephantine thing. So much so that she found herself feeling almost jealous.

She'd hidden it in her water bucket covered in a ragged winter shawl she'd had since she could remember. She checked on it now, setting down her tools. Picturing the look on her dear Marius's face when she gave him his gift tonight at the well, the Lark couldn't help letting out a little laugh.

"What are you so happy about?" It was Eponine's velvety voice.

Cosette jumped. Hands behind her back as though she'd stolen something. She forced the sudden shock of fear down her back like a shiver of cold water, and pulled her pink lips into a sweet smile. "Oh it's just you, Ponine. Merry Christmas."

Eponine smirked, hands on her tightly corseted waist. "You didn't answer me Lark."

Cosette pursed her lips, one of her eyebrows slightly raised. It was the closest thing to a glare that had ever dared cross her features. "I was just thinking about seeing the Barron today."

"He's coming here today?" The dark girl was visibly disconcerted.

"Yes of course," Cosette carried on, her confidence rising. She reached for a tray of dirty breakfast dishes, and began to wash them. "My Marius would never miss a holiday." Cosette didn't stop her scrubbing, making the remark seem as off-hand as possible. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the kitchen door slam. The emphasis of the title and then the familiar name had done the job perfectly. Although she chastised herself for it, the Lark couldn't help the bubbling sensation that came from the Thenardier girls being jealous of her once in awhile.

She continued cleaning the dishes, singing a sweet sailors love song, and wondering when Marius would arrive. She didn't have to wait long. "Cosette dear," madame called sweetly, "You're needed serving tables!"

"Coming madame!" Cosette had learned to associate that voice now, only with visits from the Baron. Grinning, she quickly dried her hands pinched her cheeks, ran a last minute finger through her tangled hair-

"Cosette, don't dawdle!"

"Yes madame!" She pushed open the kitchen door, and was in seconds handed two enormous trays, one for each hip, and pushed out the counter. She beamed at Marius in his patch-elbowed coat, and began handing out special Christmas breakfasts to the still-drowsy families around the tables. She bit her lip. Sometimes she forgot how strikingly handsome her Marius was. He was tall with dark tousled hair and fathomless brown eyes. The classic fairytale prince.

But it was the light behind those eyes. The glowing hope that traveled from his brilliant mind into every part of his body. It was his rosy winter nose, and the dimple on his left cheek that made Cosette weak in the knees. She liked to steal glances at him when he wasn't looking at her too, which was rare, and take in the strange cold seriousness that came over him. In those times he reminded her of a great General, or a Prophet. Someone who could see the world for what it really was. Someone who had plans.

"There you are Monsieur," Cosette's voice surprised her, the words coming out in an almost sultry whisper. His fingers gripped hers, stopping her suddenly, as she set down his mug of chocolate.

"Merry Christmas my love." His face was so hard, so full of concern for her that she felt tears welling in her eyes. She bit her lip.

"Merry Christmas Marius." Feeling every eye in the inn on her, the Lark gently raised Marius's hand to her mouth and gently kissed the tip of his finger. His face went red, and she grinned and walked away to finish serving the tables. The hours could not move fast enough until midnight.

 **This one and the next to come are at least twice as long as usual...sorry not sorry? Review! Especially mean things. Take out all your teenage angst on me.**


	13. Christmas

BARRON

* * *

The air in Paris that evening smelled of anger. Nothing like a celebration to remind the people of what they didn't have. Clusters of homeless sat hunched together like caged animals in the cold while the scent of good food flowed from the windows they lurked under. A skinny gamin girl sidled up to a hoop-skirted bourgeois and Marius willed her silently to show mercy, but the pig nosed woman turned sharply away, squealing about 'the audacity' of 'these people.'

"Her grandmother knew what it was to be hungry," muttered Enjolras, "But people forget these things." He motioned for the others to stay where they were-squatted behind a closed grain stand in the shadow of the old Guizot mansion-and strode into the cobbled street. Marius watched in awe as Enjolras poured his pockets out on gamin after dirty gamin. He had to turn his pockets out to get them to go away, but before that he stood there gesturing as though giving a speech.

The baron turned to the other rebel students, his mouth hanging open in a question. But they seemed as surprised by this as by the snow. "How can he afford it?" He asked Courf, who was picking absently at his vest.

His friend snorted. "Didn't I tell you?" He looked up at their leader who had apparently finished his short winded speech and was striding back to them, stony as ever. "Enjolras is the son of the Marquis of-"

"We strike now."

"Now?" Combeferre sputtered, "It's...Enjolras the sun is still setting."

"It's dark enough," was the leader's simple reply. Marius couldn't explain why, but he stood, and followed him without question. The plan was to sneak through the servants entrance and blackmail Guizot into backing out of the kings eminent offer. A risky scheme to be sure, but voted irresistible thanks to some useful information Grantaire dug up at some tavern. Heart pounding, Marius waited, hidden again this time behind a garden shed as Courfeyrac knocked on the back door.

The cook opened it, sweating and frizzy haired. "Well?"

"So sorry to do this to you madam, but, could I have a few moments of your time?"

The cooks already flushed skin darkened. "For what?"

Courfeyrac grinned, took the woman's thin hand and pulled her out into the back garden. Her protestations were short lived because within moments Courfs thick lips were covering hers and she was silenced. While her eyes were closed, he motioned behind her back for the others to move in. Marius laughed to himself and followed closely behind Grantaire. The scullery maids cowered in the corners of the stuffy kitchen.

"It's alright, you have nothing to fear," Enjolras assured them.

The smiled weakly and Combeferre, Enjolras, Grantaire and Marius passed easily through into the hallway.

"Split up?" Asked Combeferre. Enjolras grudgingly agreed. Marius waited for the others to choose directions before he took his. A spiraling staircase much like the one in his childhood home. The house was eerily silent for a Christmas night. And though the walls were lavishly decorated, there was an unnerving emptiness in the place that gave him a strange cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. For hours it seemed he walked stealthily through study rooms and libraries full of untouched books that his fingers ached to open.

The Baron had no taste for antic such as these. Illegal things, invading other's property, blackmail. But Enjolras had promised him thirty-five louis-a sum of money even Monsieur Gillenormand would have considered reasonable-and Marius felt that to turn the offer down would be to betray his love. Also, he couldn't help but allow his sympathy to grow the more time he spent with the rebels. A part of him, however small, wanted terribly to change the world. Still, as he wandered through the mansion avoiding stiff butlers and maids, all he could think about was seeing Cosette at the well later tonight.

LARK

* * *

"He didn't come." Cosette let the words escape her, her breath leaving a lonely white cloud in the dark. Why had her Marius, her love...why had her savior prince abandoned her? Now. On Christmas night, without a warning. The tears froze on their way down her hollowed cheeks, as she sat shivering against an old knotted tree. A hope, a small, bitter hope she kept trying to swallow down had kept the Lark waiting hours past her time due back at the inn. And still, she was alone.

The Thenardiers had chosen not to give her rations today and the water bucket seemed three times as heavy even without the Barron's kind voice lifting her up. Too happy, they'd called her. Too comfortable. A few extra hungry days should fix her up, they'd thought. But Cosette had merely smiled and ignored her stomach pains. No pain could touch her when she thought of Marius, and his smile and his warm arms. But now he was gone, and the poor girl fairly limped back through the woods. The now useless illegal book under one arm, and the enormous bucket weighing down the other. Perhaps the Thenardiers were right. She'd allowed her hope to grow too large in her chest, and now it had broken her heart in escaping.

A thought occurred to her. Tonight was so unlike Marius. Perhaps he was suddenly detained. In danger perhaps. Robbed, or...No Cosette would not go so far as that. But how foolish to think he'd forsaken her. For half of a pearly moment, she was blissfully reassured. There had to be some explanation. But when her wild imagination began roving over the possible explanations, she had to squeeze her eyes shut and force herself to hope her love had abandoned her. Even if it meant she would never see him again, she wanted him to be safe.


	14. Midnight

BARRON

* * *

The cell was icy and wet and crowded, but the little band of captured rebels were silent. All but the Baron. His fists were beginning to bleed from pounding the rusted bars. His voice was hoarse, but powerful. "I am begging you Monsieur. Just an hour. A few minutes and then I'll ...Please you can send guards. Leave the chains on just-"

"Enough!" The jail guard had finally lost his patience. He stood quickly, his roaring voice silencing even the rats. He swiped his police club across the bars and Marius instinctively drew his hands back. The guard smirked under his mustache, the glint of power-lust unmistakable in his grey eyes. He unlocked the door and grabbed Marius ruffly by his arm. Marius's heart leaped. He was going to see her. He would try to explain, tell her how much he still loved her. That she hadn't been abandoned.

And then the club hit his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for breath as his insides and lungs turned to cement inside him.

"Pontmercy!" Courfeyrac's voice cracked. His chains rattled as he got to his feet.

"That's illegal treatment sir." Combeferre's voice was thin ice.

"Shut up all of you. The rules are different when there's no one to see." As if to prove his point the guard swung his club again. This time at Marius's head, but he ducked under it. The guard fairly boiled. Grabbing the young boy by his hair, he pinned him against the the grimy jail wall. With his hands and feet chained closely together, the Baron didn't bother trying to resist. "Who are you to get special treatment, boy? Who do you think you are to undermine my authority? The authority of his majesty's law?"

Marius clenched his jaw. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. To declare his title was almost suicide, for it was not of the ancient aristocracy. It had been earned with courage and selflessness. But he could not disgrace his father now. Not at the time when he most needed to honor him. To stand firm and strong in the difficult right rather than succumb to the easier wrong. He knew in his soul what he needed to do. "I am the last Baron of the Great French Empire. Marius Pontmercy." His voice boomed with the nobility and dominance of his grandfather and all the humble pride of his father. It was as if the entire world gasped and then went silent.

The gaze of the guard flicked to the floor and for a few heartbeats he was subdued. Marius should have been proud in this moment. Instead, he felt only despair for his love. He was unashamed to feel a hot tear trailing down his face. With his words he had condemned not only himself, but Cosette as well.

LARK

* * *

Cosette had never been good at hiding her emotions. The singing stopped as quickly as the smiles, and she buried herself in her work. Scrubbing until her arms ached and her fingers bled. She waited tables with her mouth in a thin line and her blue eyes now clouded over as if she saw straight through to the center of the earth and at its core was met with only a dark hole of despair. She lost her appetite-something that had never happened before- and no longer bothered to clean the cinders from her face.

The Thenardiers of course, noticed the slow in business and panicked. Their debts were finally growing quicker than they could con. With their livelihood crumbling before their eyes, they blamed the girl for losing the Barron. The beatings returned in full force, but it wasn't enough. Desperate measures were about to be taken.

Five days after the dreadful Christmas, the Lark was awakened from her despondency by a crude new sign nailed to the inn's front door. When Azelma caught her staring at it she explained smugly that the girl was going to be sold as a whore. Cosette decided she would rather starve, though she said nothing to Azelma. She would leave at midnight.


	15. Prisoners

BARRON

* * *

Marius sat, shivering bloody and alone, staring out the window of his cell. It had seemed like lightning. That night five days ago when the four of them-himself, Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac-were captured. One minute the eery silence filling his thoughts and the next, a thundering of a thousand footfalls. The police had swarmed the chateau. There was no question of escape. It was the maids. Rushed to alert their master of the burglars entering his house. They must have hoped for a reward. Instead they were turned out for possible conspiracy. Five days. It seemed like a lifetime.

The Barron's empty stomach ate away at him as harshly as his guilt. How could he have been so prideful? He pulled out his father's will and the list of things. Reading them for the hundredth time in this dismal jail cell Marius couldn't help but wonder. Would his father be proud if he could see him now? Or would he hate him as he hated himself, for deserting his love on the grounds of defending a dead man's name.

Since he'd revealed his title he'd been placed in solitary confinement. He could not even know what had become of Courfeyrac and the others. Periodically he would be taken out and beaten. They said the purpose was for him to denounce the Old Republic and swear allegiance to Louis Philippe, but Marius had suspicions that they did it more for entertainment than out of duty. Even if he was cowardly enough to submit to them, the pain wouldn't stop.

Always his thoughts returned to Cosette. He knew without the threat of his imaginary money hanging over their heads, the Thenardiers would redouble their abuses on the poor girl. She was strong. Bruises and hunger were small pains to her. But she had every right in the world to hate him now that he had abandoned her. Marius found himself wondering if it might be better if they were both dead.

LARK

* * *

"Thirty Louis, very generous Monsieur, can I hear thirtyfive?" Monsieur Thenardier was screaming over the raucous and growing cluster of men in front of the inn. Cosette was weeping shamelessly tied to a pole by the door. Eponine had plastered her face plastered with makeup, but hadn't bothered to touch her hair. It hung in tangled blonde clumps. She stood shivering in nothing but her corset-pulled tight to push up her small breasts-and chemise, begging God to let her die.

Last night, Eponine and Azelma had followed her out of the house. When she had gone in the opposite direction of the well, they'd fallen on her, and before Cosette could know what was happening, had knocked the poor Lark unconscious. She'd woken that morning gagged, and tied to the stove. Her chance at freedom and dignity gone.

"Thirtyfive!" The man's voice wasn't followed by another, but the Thenardiers were never the type of people who gave up easily. Especially when it came to money. Cosette whimpered as her head was pulled up sharply. She pinched her lips shut to keep back a sob, her eyes shut tight.

"Open your eyes and smile you stupid thing," hissed the Thenardiess.

"No," she whispered resolutely.

A long windy silence followed. "Going, for thirtyfive Louis-"

"Wait!" Said a dangerously slurred voice. "Isn't that the little Lark?" The crowd murmered their agreement. "Fifty Louis."

"Well-Thank you good Monsieur..."

"Grantaire."


	16. End

END

* * *

Upon hearing the name Grantaire, the reader must have been filled with false hope. For which we now apologise. For in a large and densely populated city such as Paris, names do tend to multiply. In other words, it is not the drunkard revolutionary we know and love who bought the poor Lark. And the harder she fought, and resisted, the more violently she was punished. Her virtue was stolen forcefully by night, and by day, she was left in chains. And as what little freedom Cosette had once cherished faded like the sun, so did her courage. She learned fear, and forgot what it was to love.

* * *

And Marius? The reader undoubtedly asks. Driven mad with longing for his darling Cosette, after nearly six months of solitary imprisonment, the Barron managed to escape. These feats of cunning can be performed when the desire is strong. He found his way in the darkness to the old Thenardier inn. It was in shambles. A young beggar girl, who seemed somewhat familiar informed him that the girl he sought had been sold. Sickened and shattered, the Baron turned on his heel, vowing never to give up his search. But already, he could hear the footfalls of the grenadiers behind him.

* * *

Three years later, Cosette watched her captor leave for work, grinning broadly. Her body ached, but she no longer cared enough to feel it. The rusted chains dug at her ankles and wrists as she resituated herself on the splintered wood floor. "Cosette," She heard his voice calling out to her as she had so many times in her thoughts since he'd left her. She did not try to hope that this time it was real. And then he burst through the door. And she knew.

* * *

He saw her there, lips over-puffed and scabbed, hair rated and unkempt waist corseted tighter than could be thought human, body bruised and pale, left to waste in chains until she would next be used. Her eyes, though still fathomlessly blue, had lost all their light. And yet a dim flicker seemed to light itself as he entered.

* * *

He loved her still. She saw it in his eyes. Though hardened, they retained their warmth. His body was scarred. He dressed in beggar's clothing. His head and feet were bare, and yet, to her he was every bit the Baron had always been. He approached her cautiously, chin quivering slightly. He shook as he took her outstretched hands in his, and she tried to steady him, but found she too was quaking. But not out of fear. So this is what it felt like to love. Now I remember, she said to herself. Her heart soared, and her surroundings, the past, present and future were utterly forgotten under his gaze.

* * *

Marius found himself utterly speechless. He moved his trembling fingers and pressed them tenderly to her cheeks. And suddenly she was leaning into him, her breasts against his chest. Their lips joined as their souls had been for years, and neither heard the grenadiers enter the shabby room.

* * *

"I'll always love you!" The strangled cry escaped him as the grenadiers dragged him stiffly away.

"Marius!" She screamed. She tried to run to him, but the chains held her firmly attached to the wall. The door slammed, and that was the last she ever saw of him.

The man who owned her was informed of course, and Cosette was whipped soundly that night, until her back bled through her corset. She often wondered whether the events of the day had been real, or one of her increasingly frequent hallucinations.

The Baron lived out the remainder of his days as a galley slave, and the Lark never sang again.

 **This ending gave me no pleasure, and I am sorry for it. But there could be no escape for these two souls without the intervention of the true hero of the story, Jean Valjean. I had intended for them a somewhat happy ending, but alas, it was impossible. As always I admonish you to review. Thank you for your time.**


End file.
